


Secret Service Agent

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-03
Updated: 2001-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Different people of the West Wing reflect on their lives so far.





	Secret Service Agent

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

RATING: G  
NOTES: New series. See Part One.  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the West Wing or any of its related   
characters. Don't sue.   
SUMMARY: Different people of the West Wing reflect on their lives so   
far.

At least this President moves at a brisk pace. I've worked with   
people who had decided somewhere in their minds that they would move   
as slowly as possibly so that they could avoid their appointments.   
With Bartlet, I can at least keep my heart rate up. The man has so   
much energy, so much of himself to give and such willingness to give   
it. Even when the man had a bullet wound in his side, his first   
thought was of his daughter and his second thought was about my hand.   
He was making jokes all the way into the operating room for   
crying out loud.   
He's joking around with Charlie right now. Two brave souls,   
these men. One wakes up every day to a day of hard work and pivotal   
influence... and the other is the President of the United States.   
I've been working in the secret service since I was twenty-  
three. Never mind how long ago that was; it's not important. In any   
case, the Bartlet administration is one that will always stick out in   
my mind. It is the most fascinating group of people I've ever dealt   
with. It's amazing to work in an environment where everybody is   
friends with each other... for a majority of the time anyway.   
Sure, there are fights from time to time, but in the end, these   
people care about one another and that outlasts any fight.   
A friend once asked me why I would work in a job that requires   
me to take a bullet for some person. In response, I asked him why he   
would work at a desk in some obscure office building, typing at his   
computer as he slowly destroyed his neck, back, wrists and any other   
muscles that affected by repetitive stress syndrome.   
Needless to say, he did not have a good enough answer for me.   
The truth is that we all want something different out of our lives.   
I grew up in New York, surrounded by crime and guns and all that fun   
stuff. So naturally, I was either going to grow up to be a criminal   
or to be in law-enforcement. I chose a form of law enforcement. When   
I was a young man, I went to visit some family members in Texas. That   
same week, President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed.   
It was then I decided to become a secret service agent.   
I wanted to be there to make a difference. I wanted to be able   
to keep it from happening again. I've heard all the stories and   
conspiracies; how it was an elaborate plan and it could never have   
been prevented. But if there was ever a next time, I was going to be   
there to stop it. And I was.   
It's said that it did happen again, but I am glad that I was   
there. The shot in the hand didn't really hurt because I was thinking   
about the President and about the others. My own health and safety   
never crossed my mind. Just like the President's health and safety   
never crossed his own.  
My father once told me that although there were so many other   
options I could have chosen, he was glad that I did what I wanted to   
do. His words mean more to me now than they did then and even then,   
his words filled me with pride. I realized when I started training   
that being a secret service agent would in most ways deprive me of a   
personal life, but I knew it was worth that risk.  
I do have a personal life. Not as much of one as, say, "normal"   
people have, but I go out and I do things I consider fun. I golf, I   
go to the gym, I go to the shooting range sometimes. I don't have a   
significant other but that's understandable; my hours are long and   
I'm not going to subject anyone I might care about to the torture of   
waiting at home, wondering if I'm alive or dead. There doesn't have   
to be a news bulletin for people like me and families of people like   
me. There's always the constant fear that someone brought a gun to   
this meeting or Ron pushed the President out of the way of that car.   
I'm not going to make anyone suffer the anxiety.  
I suppose I could try a little harder. I'm going to retire   
sometime soon, after Bartlet gets out of office, in two years or six,   
whichever. I think between administrations would be the best time to   
leave. Then I could settle down and find a calmer life. Maybe I can   
find someone to share that life with.   
The concept is not entirely implausible, you know?  
There are times when I can't seem to remember how I got here.   
There are other times when I remember all too well. My brother and I   
used to roughhouse all around our neighborhood, looking for trouble   
(although we'd never admit as such) and adventure. I survived that   
world and made it to college, just when Vietnam was building into   
full-scale. I enlisted and fought for my country. They sent me home   
again eventually and I began my training for the secret service.  
Everyday, I'm still fighting for my country. I'm the dark figure   
in the hallway or by the door, the silent soldier who protects the   
President. My life is spent fighting a war. The question that haunts   
me is one that rings through my brain every day. Everyday, the   
President asks this question; I doubt he realizes how much the   
question means to me or why...   
"What's next?"   
What happens at the beginning of a day? At the end? What is   
waiting right outside, waiting for the President to emerge? What's   
next for him and for me, the one who would die to protect him? What's   
next?  
Jed Bartlet is the first person I've ever wanted to give my life for.   
All through my job, my duty has required me to protect all kinds of   
people, even people I didn't like, and I would always do my duty.   
Bartlet is the first person I've protected who I would give my life   
for, not because it is my duty to do so, but because I would want to.   
There's a very intricate web that makes up my life. I very   
rarely go home any more. I rarely ever want to. It's a good thing I   
don't have a cat. It'd be dead by now.   
There are good people in this building. Bartlet, Charlie and   
Mrs. Landingham are the ones I see most often. However, I can just   
think of all the others. Toby, who came to me the day after the   
shooting, begging to take the "blame" for what happened; I think CJ,   
who stands up and gives nearly a dozen briefings in the twenty-four   
hours after she's been shot at, and she kept her grace the whole   
time. Sam Seaborn, the young man who is always trying to be the   
righteous savior and is driven by his innocent sense of good. Josh   
Lyman was shot and nearly died, and a few weeks later, he was back on   
his feet, trying to take the weight of the world back on to his   
shoulders. Leo McGarry, the tough guy and the mother hen all rolled   
into one.   
These are the people working hard to make the world better.   
That makes me feel damn good.  
There's more to my job than taking a bullet for the President.   
There's more to my life than my job. There's more to the world than   
me. These are all thoughts that cross my mind from time to time.   
These are things that I consider when I wake up and when I go to   
sleep.  
I feel proud.   
I feel proud that I can work for the United States government in   
a role that defines sacrifice. How many people would give up their   
lives to save another? Of course I'm paid to do it, but what good   
does money do me if I'm dead?  
Now that's just a morbid thought.   
The President is deep in conversation now. He's listening and   
he's reacting. I hear a voice in my ear saying that "book bag" has   
just entered the premises. I consider telling the President, but he's   
so engrossed, I don't want to take his attention away from the   
economists (heaven forbid). He rattles off numbers and he laughs with   
the other people in the room. I'll give you one thing: this man is   
charming.   
Yes, I am proud.  
There's so much going on in this country every day, and a lot of   
it takes place in this White House. No matter what, I'll always know   
that I've made a difference. I'm proud to walk beside the President   
down the hallway.

***************

  


End file.
